


You'll Live

by hanaellena



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Shameless whump tbh, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:16:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11958561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanaellena/pseuds/hanaellena
Summary: "Peter knew he was bound to make enemies in this line of work, but not like this. He’d never anticipated this. If he were to be killed now, he’d die a symbol of fear and weakness, a deterrent for hope. He’d die as a kid, a kid who’d meddled in things he didn’t understand, and Peter didn’t understand, not even in the slightest."Peter's powers are gone. He's face to face with someone who eagerly wants him dead. Things don't go so well.





	1. Chapter 1

As he made his way along the bus to where Ned had saved him a seat, Peter thought he hid the limp that accompanied his sprained ankle admirably.

He sat down next to his best friend, allowing himself a quiet sigh of relief as the weight came of his minor injury.

“What did you do to your leg?” Was the first thing Ned said to him, and Peter let a breath of frustration lose from his nose.

_Damn._

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He didn’t ask how Ned could tell he was hurt. He obviously hadn’t been as inconspicuous as he’d first thought.

“Was it a bank robbery? A mugging? Giant evil robots?”

“No, Ned.”

“Aliens? Did The Avengers need you again?”

“ _No_ , Ned.”

Peter was more assertive this time. Even though Ned was keeping his voice at a low pitch, they were still smack bang in the middle of a crowded school bus, and Peter was very concious of the many pairs of ears in close proximity to them, undoubtedly eager to tune in to the first whisper of alien gossip.

“Dude, you can’t leave me in the dark like this.” Pressed Ned. “I can’t be your guy in the chair if you don’t tell me all the crazy shit that goes on in your secret life. I’ve gotta assess these things, y’know? Besides, it’s the most interesting part of my day.”

“ _People_ , Ned” exclaimed Peter in an a low yet exasperated tone, gesturing generally to their public environment. “But if you’ve really gotta know, I got my foot stuck in a grate and fell.”

“You what?”

“I got my foot stuck in a grate and fell.” repeated Peter, louder this time. “Now my ankle’s sprained.”

“During a fight?”

“No, like five minutes ago.”

Ned frowned.

“Aren’t you supposed to have spidey-sense to avoid stuff like that?”

“My spidey-sense is for danger.” replied Peter, hushed. “I guess a metal grate isn’t technically all that dangerous.”

At first, Peter had refused to call the unpleasant bombardment on his senses that emerged at times of imminent catastrophe his _spidey-sense,_ thinking it sounded utterly childish, but seen as Ned was the only person it ever came up in conversation with, the term his friend had coined somehow stuck.

“Dude, you got your ass kicked by a grate.”

“I’m having an off day, okay?”

And he really was. He’d felt increasingly spaced out all morning, unable to eat his breakfast, his limbs feeling distant from his body. His head felt like it was full of cotton, stuffing up his senses. And now he’d hurt his ankle before he’d even made it to the end of his road. Peter had been thrown from heights of thirty feet and suffered less damage, which he knew made little sense. Perhaps he was getting ill. Though he wasn’t aware he was even capable of that any more.

Their bus got stuck in traffic ten minutes into their journey, just like it did every morning, on the patch of road that ran alongside the train tracks into the city. Although this time it was much worse than usual. As they pulled up to a set of red lights before a large crosswalk, Peter pulled out his phone to text MJ that they were probably going to be late, only to realise his lack of signal.

“Hey, you got any bars?” he asked Ned,.

“Nope, you either?”

Peter shook his head, frowning. He didn’t think he’d ever lost signal in the city. It was a Stark phone after all, courtesy of the man himself.

That was when the whole bus jolted violently. It felt as if they’d been hit by a car. Peter dropped his phone on the floor, totally caught off guard. Students clung to the seats in front of them with several panicked yells.

“What the hell was that?!” exclaimed Ned, right before the bus was struck again and even Peter reached out to steady himself. Out front, people on the crosswalk were backing away, looking in their direction, fear on their faces. Peter followed their gaze to where the impact was occurring, but before he saw anything, whatever it was hit them again, and this time the force was enough to take the right two wheels off the ground. Reality tilted, and with an increase in surrounding screams, it became clear that the bus was going over. Peter pulled off his rucksack and began unzipping it for his suit, but before he could pull it out, the right side of the bus was crashing into the nearest car and it was Ned that cushioned his fall. Thankfully no one had been sitting across from them so Peter managed to avoid a face full of student himself.

“Peter, what’s going on?” cried Ned, quite clearly terrified. Peter shook himself, trying to regain his bearings. He attempted not to crush Ned under his own weight.

 _No spidey-sense _,__ thought Peter. That was supposed to mean they were safe. _Well clearly fricking not_.

“Cover for me.” he said, before he began scrambling for the open door at the front of the bus, bag in hand, wincing at the sharp jolts of pain through his ankle. With adrenaline coursing through him, he ignored any of the disorientated and injured students that might be watching him go, as well as the now unconscious bus driver that he passed on the way out. He’d have to help them once they were out of further harm’s way.

As he stumbled onto the concrete, there was no immediate sight of the attacker, so Peter rolled into the tiny space underneath the toppled bus and the half crushed car it lay slanted against, frantically tugging his suit from his rucksack. He changed into it quickly but not without difficulty in the too cramped space. Once he re-emerged onto the open street in full disguise, Peter fired the bag containing his clothes as far away from the scene as possible. It landed somewhere beneath the large arches upon which the trains ran.

There were other students climbing from the bus now; one of them caught sight of the neighbourhood hero as they landed on shaking feet. They tugged frantically at the arm of their friend who was following closely behind and pointed in his direction.

 _Oh boy_ , this was too close for comfort, thought Peter. He’d thank bad guys in the future for carrying out their villainy in a way that allowed him to become Spider-Man less conspicuously. Being outed was the last thing he needed right now. Still, keeping his identity under wraps wasn’t currently his outstanding priority, for his friends were in danger and he needed to find out who the hell would decide to beat up a school bus full of kids on a Tuesday morning, and then he needed to put a stop to it promptly.

It seemed whatever was the cause of the commotion was no longer interested in the bus, because it appeared to have left the close vicinity. He climbed onto the roof of the next car to survey his surroundings, but not without an unprecedented amount of effort and a near slip on his bad ankle. _What was wrong with him today?_ Despite his disconcerting struggle with what should have been a simple task, it didn’t take long for Peter to find what he was looking for. The guy wasn’t exactly hiding himself.

In the time Peter was changing into his suit, whoever it was had moved out into the space that had opened up on the road in front of them while they’d been stuck at the lights. They were green now, but no one had made a move to drive.

The physique outlined by the thick metal suit was male. The man’s identity was obscured by a masked helmet made of the same material, and there was some kind of tail that curved out from the back of his costume, similar to that of a scorpion. _More stolen alien tech_ , thought Peter, a thousand questions rushing through his head.

“Hey numbnut,” he called, “I’ve had a rough morning so let’s wrap this up quick, okay?”

The man turned towards the sound of Peter’s voice. His fist loosened and his head tilted as if beneath the mask a closed grin was spreading across his face.

“Spider-Man.” he said. The voice coming off him was metallic and cold, but despite the distortion it sounded strangely familiar. “I was starting to think I’d got the wrong bus.”

_What?_

Peter had to focus through the sounds of people running, yelling and the distant sounds of oncoming police sirens as his head swam with unsettling thoughts. This stranger knew which bus Spider-Man took to school, which instilled the more pressing fact that he knew Peter’s identity. _But how?_

“So you’re looking for me?” said Peter. “You know there are easier ways to get my attention. Destroying public property is nice and all, but at this point it’s even less original than just sending me flowers, or chocolate, or y’know, a simple phone call.”

Peter was actually slightly grateful that he seemed to be the target of this man’s possibly murderous intentions, purely because it meant he had less people to worry about.

 _Mr Scorpion _,__  for lack of a better name, started walking briskly towards him. It was clear that the heavy metal suit weighed him down a little, and Peter fired a web at his assailant’s chest from his perch on the car, ready to pull the man to the ground and have this over with. He could ask questions later.

The web latched to the metal suit, and Peter tugged as Scorpion came to a halt, expecting the man to come crashing down, but he didn’t move an inch, which immediately caused the first seeds of panic to split and bloom. Peter’s arms felt utterly weak.

“Karen, what’s happening? Why won’t he budge?” he uttered, pulling at the web to no avail.

“It seems your normally alleviated strength has been subdued.” responded the AI, the relative calmness of her voice at complete odds with the fear her statement sent raging through him.

“Having a little trouble there, Spidey?”

The man’s voice had a touch of knowing about it, which only made Peter panic more.

“No trouble here.” He replied anyway, tugging again despite the complete ineffectualness of his strength.“But if you’d mind, y’know, falling over? That would be great.”

With a suited hand, Scorpion grabbed the web attached to his chest and pulled in his own direction, taking Peter violently with it. Peter came crashing from the roof of the car onto the road, a fall that would normally do little to no damage, but now the impact shook his whole frame. He’d have been winded or worse if it weren’t for the protective armour of the stark suit.

“Karen, what happened to me?” Peter gasped from his place on the ground.

His sprained ankle made a little more sense now, but only a little.

“I’ve carried out a full body scan,” Karen replied, “and there appears to be a foreign device two centre-meters under the skin of your right calf.”

“ _ _What?__ ” Peter said the word aloud this time, rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself stiffly to his feet. His hand shot down to his calf where he felt nothing but the fabric of his suit. _This was so so so not good._

“It’s releasing some kind of pulse.” Karen continued. “Being the only thing that’s changed since the last time you put on your suit, I can only deduce that this is what’s causing your problem.”

Peter stumbled back against the same car he’d fallen from as Scorpion began walking towards him again. All of a sudden, the man looked so much more intimidating, more creature than human.

“Is there any way to disable it?” Peter almost yelled.

“Maybe if I knew what the technology was, but I’ve failed to match it to anything in my database. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, Peter.”

 _This is so not fair_ , thought Peter. Scorpion was almost on him, and Peter didn’t know whether to fight or run.

“Activate taser web. Now, Karen. Now!”

Peter fired again, and this time when the web struck, electricity rattled through the frame of Scorpion’s suit. However it seemed to have no effect on his rapid approach. The metal absorbed the electrical energy that was being emitted.

“Oh, come on.” Peter exclaimed in utter frustration, and before he could fire another web, Scorpion was upon him and one of his large metal fists was striking Peter across the face hard. His body crumpled to the ground where his head hit the floor. The world scattered on impact. _He should have run._

“Peter, you need to evacuate. You might as well be a regular civilian right now, which means your chances of surviving an attack on your life from this man are next to zero.”

Peter barely heard Karen’s words of warning. They were quiet and distant as he pushed himself onto his elbows, trying to shake himself back into reality. _Some reality _,__  thought Peter. His head felt like it was splitting along the point of impact from his assailant’s fist, not to mention he was wholeheartedly freaking out. This man knew who he was. There was an unidentifiable alien device _under his skin_ that was cancelling out his abilities. And now he was about to be killed by some jacked up guy in a stupid animal costume, most likely in front of his best friend. Though he didn’t know the latter for sure because his vision was still blurred from a hit that should never have taken him down in the first place.

“You look like you’re having a little trouble standing up there, kid.” said the larger man. “Maybe you should stop trying.”

And with that he sent a rock hard foot straight into Peter’s stomach. Peter gasped as too much pain erupted through him and he collapsed again, face plastered back against the concrete. _Shit. Shit. Shit. God that hurt._ Scorpion leant over him and lowered his voice.

“You’re not that threatening without your babysitters around, are you, _Peter?_ ” he said. The disparaging emphasis Scorpion placed on Peter’s name left him more confused and fearful than ever. “I’ve gotta be honest though, it’s not much fun when I have to hold back like this.”

It dawned on Peter that if this man could topple a bus with relative ease, considering his current vulnerability he was lucky he wasn’t already a lifeless pile of broken bones on the sidewalk. Right now Peter was merely being played with, like a cat toys with it’s prey. He must’ve pissed this guy off _bad_.

“Who are you?” Peter gasped out before beginning to force himself up again, far too slowly. The many people who had fled the immediate vicinity were now stood at a distance, watching and filming in different degrees of awe and horror. Some people were still injured on the bus, and some were watching terrified through the glass.

Not waiting for an answer, Peter lifted his arm to fire again, but Scorpion lashed out, grabbing his wrist and enclosing the web shooter under thick metal. Scorpion’s grip tightened and Peter’s stomach dropped as he felt and heard his web shooter ruthlessly crushed under the pressure. _Oh God, no._ Scorpion lifted Peter’s arm high, and with it his body followed.

“Karen!” Peter yelled. “I could use some help here!”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I’m currently assessing your options.”

“Well assess faster!”

Peter lifted his other hand, but before he could do anything, his body was being thrown. His stomach swooped, and then he crashed hard into the wind shield of a recently emptied cab. Glass smashed. Then there was only pain. A deduction he’d previously failed to make came to fruition. _No abilities. No healing factor._  If by some odd chance he lived through this, he’d have a whole new appreciation for the latter. For as he tumbled back to the ground amongst fragments of shattered car window, he knew his injuries were more than mere bruising. A sharp, borderline unbearable agony radiated outwards from the lower right side of his torso. He struggled to move at all. His breaths came short and strained like hiccups.

“Toomes didn’t want to give us your name at first.” came Scorpion’s voice from a short distance. “But at the end of the day, he’s still a business man. And we know how to do business.”

Peter desperately tried to regain control of his senses, struggling against the blinding pain in his side.

 _Toomes? We? How many people knew his identity now? How many of those people wanted him dead?_ In light of this new information, Peter found it difficult to accept how utterly and royally screwed he appeared to be.

“Karen, send a distress call to Mr Stark.” he choked out. It was the last thing he wanted to do. But his situation was bad. Real bad. Hopefully he wouldn’t already be dead before his ‘babysitter’ got here.

“I’ve already tried, Peter. There’s something blocking my signal, as well as that of every device in the surrounding area.”

And now it was worse. Much worse. Peter didn’t know what the hell he could have done to warrant this amount of pre-planning. Someone really _really_ wanted him dead.

The older man watched him struggle, winded on his front. Thank God he couldn’t see the fear on Peter’s face.

“Can’t we talk about this?” Peter gasped, false nonchalance now his only defence. “We can talk, right?”

Scorpion sauntered over to him with an infuriating kind of ease. Peter tried to get up, crawl away, _anything_ , but barely made it to his knees before his arms were knocked out from underneath him and he was being kicked again, and again, and again. The repeat blows to his already damaged torso were enough to make him cry out. Tears sprung to his eyes. He couldn’t breathe. _He couldn’t breathe_.

Through the haze of pain, he thought he might have heard the echo of a man’s distorted voice through a megaphone. Then a gun shot fired. A bullet ricocheted from Scorpion’s armour, not even leaving a mark. Several more shots followed in ineffectual succession, and it seemed the man beneath the suit barely even noticed.

So the cops were finally here. But their weapons were as useless as Peter was. _Just wonderful _,__ Peter thought. He was quickly coming to the realisation that he was so, __so__  going to die.

The older man was laughing as he bent down and took hold of Peter’s left forearm, the one with the remaining web shooter. He then lifted him against his protesting bones and began to squeeze hard. Peter cried out again. Ouch. _Ouch _.__

 _ _“__ Wait…” Peter frantically wheezed as the man gripped tighter. “ _Wait._ ”

His arm was going to break. _This maniac was going to break his fricking arm._

He was still winded beyond belief, his brain a badly concussed frenzy of panic. He didn’t think. He just fired.

_Bad idea._

The web hit Scorpion in the shoulder, but it was Peter that felt it. The electricity sparked, and Peter’s mind went white as the jolt of power travelled through Scorpion’s suit and straight into him. The shock was instantaneous but intense. Peter immediately let go of his web shooter, incapacitated. He felt as as if his muscles had shorted out. He went slack.

Electrocuting himself however, may have saved Peter from the broken arm he was expecting, for while he hung limp as result of his own infliction, Scorpion reached for Peter’s web slinger, his goal all along, and with minor difficulty cracked the band open from his wrist. He then proceeded to drop Peter back on the ground, who stirred to clutch his bruised limb against his chest.

“Too easy.” said Scorpion.

Peter glanced at his empty wrist and wondered where the hell this guy managed to get hold of technology that could tear through stark tech like it was paper. He was lost, scared, getting his ass handed to him in the most public way. People were filming. This would be on the news. May would see it. And now his lack of web shooters left him altogether defenceless. He’d never felt so much like the child he was.

He had to get out. He had to get out or he was going to die. It was as simple as that.

This time Scorpion let him stumble to his feet, even let him make it a few feet in the opposite direction, not before crashing into the same dented car he’d been thrown into before. Peter didn’t know where he was running to, just knew he had to run regardless.

He heard someone cry Spider-Man’s name, a civilian, and turned towards the voice. Then the owner of the voice instead let out a cry of horror at the site of their neighbourhood hero dropping to the ground once more. A string of Spider-Man’s own webbing was suddenly latched to his back, sending pulses of sharp debilitating electricity through the powerless web slinger. Not far away, Scorpion held the stolen web shooter, watching in amusement as Peter suffered on the ground, a victim of his own tech.

Peter wasn’t really aware of anything any more. Only that every muscle in his body was acutely seizing, forming tight ropes of fire under his skin. The worlds worst cramp had flared up in every part of his body, from his fingers to his thighs to his bruised chest. His brain screamed _make it stop_. But his brain wasn’t holding the ropes any more.

It felt like it lasted a lifetime, but it probably wasn’t any longer than five seconds. When the electricity waned, Peter didn’t even try to move. He planted his head against the concrete, and instead focused on restraining tears.

“Now you’re probably all wondering why I’m here.”

Scorpion’s voice was suddenly amplified as he turned away from Peter, who lay shaking, and instead addressed the small crowd of people watching from a distance, those who hadn’t completely fled the scene.

“I have a message to give on behalf of myself and my associates, whose names I won’t mention, and this is it… Your heroes can be broken. Your heroes can be killed. And for those out there who find themselves in the same predicament as Spidey here, stumbling onto these _abilities._ Be smart. Because if you choose the wrong side, don’t think we’re not coming for you next.”

Peter knew he was bound to make enemies in this line of work, but not like this. He’d never anticipated _this_. If he were to be killed now, he’d die a symbol of fear and weakness, a deterrent for hope. He’d die as a kid, a kid who’d meddled in things he didn’t understand, and Peter _didn’t_ understand, not even in the slightest. And that’s why he couldn’t die yet. He wouldn’t.

“I know you think these people are your saviours.” Scorpion continued his speech. And with him distracted, Peter started dragging himself along the concrete, wasted, wearied, wincing at the pain that was only growing in his side, back towards the broken glass on the ground next to the same dented taxi. “But there’s an essential order to things. And that order keeps the world running. When people disrupt that order, things go wrong. People get hurt.”

It was like the man was reading from a script, putting on a performance. These weren’t even his own words. Peter might have cared, but he was too preoccupied with surviving. He stopped listening as he reached the shattered glass and grabbed the largest shard, wanting to throw up at the thought of what he was about to do.

“Karen?” he whispered.

“Yes, Peter?”

“I need you to show me where the device is in my leg. I have to see it.”

He struggled onto his back, managed to half sit up.

“Commencing X-ray.”

Peter had never X-rayed himself before, and for a moment was taken aback by the sight of his own skeleton. He actively chose not to focus on the mess that was his ribcage, because then he really would throw up. He went straight to his leg, and sure enough, there embedded in the muscle of his calf was an unnatural round object, just under two centimetres in diameter.

 _What the hell is that?_ Thought Peter, and more importantly, _how the hell did it get there without him knowing?_ Somehow they’d turned him into a sitting duck, whoever __they__ were. They’d gotten to Peter regardless of his powers, and if they could do that, it seemed the only reason he wasn’t long dead already was because whoever was in charge needed to make an example of him. It was clear that Peter had web slung his way into something so much bigger than himself. But it didn’t really matter now. He just needed it out. He needed to fight back.

Barely thinking, Peter held his breath and jammed the glass into the back of his calf, right over the spot where the foreign device was lodged. The pain was intense, but masked almost entirely by adrenaline and desperation.

Things became a fast and bloody blur. And then Scorpion was upon him, distracted from his speech, grabbing Peter by the throat. Peter’s senses lit up, drowning him in his own panic. Scorpion lifted him until his toes were barely scratching the ground. He was dragged to the centre off the crosswalk, as if to give those left on the school bus a better view. Peter’s windpipe felt like it was being crushed. It probably was.

“So how do I deal with our little insect problem here?” said Scorpion, still addressing those left watching in horror. “Do I squash him like the household pest he is?”

Peter’s eyes were streaming beneath his mask. His lungs screamed. Blood dripped onto white paint.

“Do I rip off his head? I mean, that’ll certainly send the message loud and clear, but there are kids watching.”

 _I’m_ a kid _ _,__ thought Peter with a mad kind of spite. Everything hurt. Everything hurt and he was a kid and _he couldn’t breathe._

Peter clutched onto the older man’s arm and wrenched with everything he had. It shifted, only a little, but it definitely shifted.

“I could take off his mask; show the world what’s underneath. But I wouldn’t want to make a martyr out of anyone now, would I?”

Peter tugged, choked, felt movement. His vision swam.

“So I guess I’ll just have to settle for-”

Peter kicked out with a half strangled scream, and this time both he and Scorpion went tumbling to the ground. He fell from the other man’s lost grip and landed on his side, as surprised as his counterpart to be there. The device that had been inside his leg lay two meters away, covered in blood, blinking a strange kind of iridescent light.

“You little shit.” came the metallic voice.

Peter had no time to recover, to even get a whole breath in. He scrambled to his feet and ran for the sidewalk, then the nearest building. He jumped, clung on, and climbed, trailing blood as he went. Halfway up, a familiar feeling raced through him and the hairs on the back of his neck rose up. He immediately let go of the wall, dropped and re-attached himself a meter down, crying out at the strain on his side. A string of his webbing hit the wall above him where he’d just moved from, sparking with electricity. He dodged it, kept going, thinking of nothing other than getting himself out of harms way.

As soon as he reached the roof he collapsed onto his back.

For a moment all strength seeped out of him. His senses were drowned out by the ringing in his head. He left the present, his mind drifting somewhere else. He wasn’t here. This wasn’t happening. A brief moment of reprieve.

It was far too brief however. The ringing quickly died down and now he could hear and feel way too much: the voices down below, the traffic from the next block, his own laboured breathing. Having his abilities reactivate so suddenly was almost too intense. Especially in combination with the pain that blossomed over various parts of his body, radiating outwards, unrelenting. He groaned, coughed, and then tensed at the immediate effect it had on his tightening chest.

“Karen, run diagnostics.”

His voice was gravel.

“You’ll live.” said Karen.

Peter allowed himself a strained, half delirious laugh.

“Thanks.” he said. She was right. He didn’t really want to know.

Peter urged himself to stand up, to assess his situation, to fight through the panic. But fighting was the last thing he wanted to do right now. His right leg was a mess. The rest of him was hardly any better. And more than anything, he was afraid. He had his powers back, but the feeling of powerlessness lingered. So he lay, breathed, waited.

The sound of Scorpion’s amplified voice had him jumping, wincing, shivering. _Why was he shivering?_

“Surely you haven’t had enough, little Spider?” Peter heard from down below. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Well I’m done with you _ _,__ thought Peter bitterly. But he wasn’t allowed to be done. There were people down there. Innocent people. His friends. Despite how much he wanted to, he couldn’t just run.

Though he couldn’t bring himself to get back down there either; to even stick his head over the edge of the building. His limbs felt like led weights. There was a bubble of precious air around him that would burst if he moved.

“Come on, Spider-Man” came the voice again. “Are you really gonna deprive these people of the show they stuck around for? You too scared? I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

Peter had never been the sort to shy away from fear. It was what had kept him alive in the past. So Scorpion’s attempt at taunting Peter’s ego did little to encourage the kind of stupidity that would help him get back in the fight. Not that what had happened thus far could really be called a fight. A pummelling perhaps. Or a game of Whack-a-mole where he was the mole. An execution even. The real fight was yet to come, if only Peter could just get up.

_Get up, Peter. Just get up._

It was quiet for a while, and the tension rose as Peter willed himself to just _move_. Down below he heard the unidentifiable but familiar hushed tone of a student utter “Where did Parker go?” and cursed the return of his advanced hearing, for at this point the stress of anyone else deducing his identity was just another nightmare to add to the pile.

“Spider-Man.” came Scorpion’s voice once more, less colourfully mocking this time. “Do I need to remind you that we know who you are. We know everything about you. That means we know who you love.”

Peter sat up. He didn’t wince.

“If you’re down and out, that’s fine. I’m not one to kick a dead horse.” Scorpion continued. “But someone’s going to pay for your cowardice, and they’re gonna pay pretty soon if you don’t wise up and let me finish this. _We know who you love_ , Spider-Man.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooo.  
> I know it's been like a whole year since I wrote the first chapter for this, but after watching Infinity War I fancied some whump and thought I might as well procrastinate studying by finishing the chapter I started all that time ago. You might have to re-read chapter 1 to catch up! Sorry people. Clearly I can only write when I really shouldn't be. (I managed to slip a little Infinity War nod in here, but no spoilers, dw!!)
> 
> Ps. this was written at 4am and isn't proof read, so lord knows if it's any good. Enjoy anyways!

_Ned. Aunt May. Oh God no._

Peter clambered to the corner of the building and dropped off the edge, despite how much his body protested. Scorpion still stood in the middle of the cross-walk, waiting.

From his vantage point. Peter now registered that there were only two police officers down below, a man and a woman. The male officer was still pointing his gun at the armoured man as if it would achieve anything.

Peter tensed when the officer swiftly switched targets as the red and blue of his suit came into view above the top of the building. The officer wavered, unsure of himself, then too rightly grasped that Spider-Man definitely wasn't the enemy here, and returned to his former mark. The female officer had run to the toppled school bus and was tending to those that were injured. Obviously, like everything else, their radios weren't working either, hence the lack of backup. Thankfully though, Scorpion hadn't made a move to attack either of them, so it seemed as long as Peter kept playing his part as human punching bag, everyone else was safe.

However, Peter wasn't sure if everyone included Ned and May. He couldn't pinpoint Ned anywhere in the crowd. Had his friend even gotten off the bus yet? There was also the sickening prospect of what the hell happened if he didn't actually die today? If he didn't give this man what he wanted? What would that mean for those he loved?

"Peter, please be advised that you're in no fit state to fight. Further exertion could exacerbate already existing-"

"Karen, I know you're only trying to help, just not now, okay?"

Soon he was back on the side-walk and stepping into the road. He didn't bother hiding his limp this time.

"Good choice, Spider-Man." said Scorpion, as the two of them came parallel, a good twenty feet from one another. "I knew you had some fight left in you."

His spidey-sense lit up and Peter quickly dodged the stream of web that came his way, tucking to his knees as he heard the familiar  _whoosh_  go over his head. The pressure on his injuries nearly had him lose control and he planted an arm down to steady himself.

In response to Peter's apparent fragility, a sound came from Scorpion that somewhat resembled a laugh. The older man reached for one of the emptied cars lined up behind him. With a hand under its front, there was the sound of bending metal and screeching tyres as he moved it with ease.

Despite the show of strength, Peter found his fear dissipating by the second. The thought of the people he loved in danger, the only people he had left in the world: he would tear through anything, abilities or none, to keep them safe.

So he started running. The pain in his side was only bearable for it had lulled in response to a new frantic kind of focus. The car came hurling his way, and he dropped, slid, heard as well as felt it crash into the road behind him. Metal crunched and screeched as it skidded across the asphalt.

And then he was running again, ready to jump and kick full force, praying that his newly returned strength would be enough to take the guy down.

But when he left the ground, his spider-sense suddenly spiked. There was a blue flash of light from Scorpions suit, and a millisecond later something struck his left shoulder with the force of a speeding truck. It launched him several feet backwards and thrust him into the asphalt where his whole body bounced and rolled on impact. White hot agony flared up across the left side of his chest and arm, enough to make him momentarily black out. A sound half way between a groan and a scream left his lips as he rolled onto his back. He looked down to see a blackened mess, what had become of his shoulder, and wasn't sure which parts were suit and which parts were skin.

 _Oh God oh God oh God oh God._  He was going to be sick.

Scorpion walked up to where he lay, then proceeded to hold up his arm and pondered it for a moment.

"Thanks for giving me the opportunity to properly test run this thing." he said. "Seems it needs more work. You should be dead."

Peter didn't wait for the pain to dull or for Scorpion to monologue any further. In one swift motion, he got an arm underneath himself, swiped for the older man's legs and sent him crashing to the ground.

"Son of a bitch." came Scorpion's voice.

Peter's mind was a whirlwind of frantic urgency as he swung himself on top of Scorpion.

With his legs either side of the other man's torso, knees barely touching the ground for the size of the metal suit, Peter threw a punch straight into Scorpion's helmet. A severe twanging sound rang out as Scorpion's head made contact with the ground, cracking the concrete on impact. Peter's hand flared with pain, but he punched again as soon as Scorpion lifted his head. It slammed into the road surface once more, cracking it further. Scorpion didn't have time to move before Peter made another blow, and this time the metal of Scorpion's helmet warped beneath his fist.

Using his strength after feeling so unbelievably weak had awoken something in Peter, and he kept punching. He wasn't sure if it was to knock Scorpion out, or merely to prove to himself that he could. He drew his fist back again, not really thinking, and brought it down again, denting the metal further. The adrenaline was blocking out the pain, and the sound of his fist against metal masked the sense of powerlessness that lingered. He hoped to damage Scorpion's suit enough to incapacitate him, and was glad for the thick metal between his fist and the other man's head. In his current state of mind, he wasn't sure when he'd actually stop hitting.

And then suddenly the thought of Ned and May came raging back.

Peter paused, his arm lifted, fist clenched, another strike at the ready.

He looked up to the school bus, searching frantically for his friend, but he couldn't see Ned anywhere. He listened out for his voice, and his heightened hearing caught nothing.

What happened if he kept punching? What happened if he won this fight? Would he really be winning? Or would his loved ones pay the price?

He looked down at the man beneath him, at the ugly broken face of his mask, and a different kind of powerlessness reared its head. He dropped his arm, unsure of where to go from here.

"Who are you?" he said, voice raw. His chest was still heaving. Pain still wove a haze over everything. His left arm still hung practically limp. The man underneath him didn't respond.

"Who are you?!" he said again, louder, desperation seeping through. "Who do you work for?"

Maybe if he found out who these people were, he could alert Mr Stark before anything happened to Ned or May, if it hadn't already. Mr Stark would fix this. Iron Man could fix anything.

"Tell me who you are!" Peter shouted this time, totally unsure of his own plan.

If the man wouldn't tell him, he could at least show him. Peter reached down for the other man's semi-broken mask, ready to pull whatever was left away and reveal his face. He wasn't sure if it was the right decision; if he was making a huge mistake. Perhaps the guy had been bluffing all along. Perhaps there was no one else involved and Ned and May were perfectly safe. There were too many unknowns. Too many risks. Peter could only trust his instinct.

That was when his spider sense lit up.

Peter's hand shot out to block Scorpion's fist that had swung up to throw him off. His natural reflexes resulted in him using his left arm, and agony flared across that side of his body, blooming from his ruined shoulder. He caught Scorpion's arm in his grip, pushed it away from his face, but faltered, and the deadly blue blast that was meant for his head grazed his side instead. The force of it threw Peter backwards, away from Scorpion and back onto the asphalt. The pain was blinding, all-consuming. Peter choked. For a moment, he was deaf, barely breathing, unaware of anything.

Scorpion rolled away, but very slowly. After Peter's barrage of abuse something in his suit was damaged, or the man inside it perhaps concussed, for his movements were laden and sluggish. He remained on the ground next to Peter.

Peter had no idea of this though. The world around him was distant, and all he really felt was hot agony spreading across his side and shoulder, winding him. He was definitely going to die now. The same blast as before, this time from such a close proximity, there was no way he could survive that. He thought about putting a leg underneath him. He thought about trying to crawl, move, anything. But the thoughts were barely formed, whispers of effort.

He didn't dare clutch his side. He didn't dare even look. It felt like he'd been hit by a space ship, and part of him was worried there'd be nothing left when he did.

With his brain not working, Peter concentrated on getting air back into his lungs as he lay semi-curled up on his side, fingers grazing the concrete, a handhold he couldn't quite grip.

"We'll kill them, you know."

Peter barely made out the words, but he understood. He hiccuped around the pain, digging into the concrete harder with the tips if his fingers.

"Your Aunt. Your friends." Scorpion's electronic voice was faltering, like a radio going in and out of signal very quickly. The suit was definitely damaged. "The boss only wants me to send a message. But what better message than to kill you, then go right ahead and kill everyone you love too. It's what you get for poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Scorpion had made it onto his side, but was struggling to get any further.

Peter's breath was coming back to him slightly. And something bloomed inside of him at Scorpion's words. Whether it was anger, panic, fear, just sheer desperation, it was something powerful. His fingers pressed hard enough into the concrete to make it crunch. A frustrated, pained sound left his lips.

"I'm gonna destroy everything you love, Spider-Man."

There was a subtle ringing sound, and Peter recognised it as the noise of Scorpion's weaponized glove coming alive once again, ready to finish the job. So with great difficulty and a cry of exertion, he heaved himself to his knees, ignoring the tense pain. He couldn't allow it to cripple him, not when his family was being threatened.

Mind white, Peter launched himself forward and struck Scorpion, harder than any time before. He might have broken his hand, but barely noticed. Scorpion crashed onto his back once more, his mask completely ruined.

Despite being incapacitated however, the ringing from Scorpion's suit was building fast. Way too fast. The weapon was about to go off. Peter's spider-sense screamed.

He still wasn't really thinking. Peter could only think of Ned and May and what this man had promised to do. So he grabbed Scorpion's arm, twisted it upwards, and pointed the weapon directly at the other man's face.

The blast went off. But it didn't hit anyone.

For the next thirty seconds, Peter was utterly confused. Something tugged the weapon in his hands, redirecting it, and the blast hit a building somewhere, cracking brick. Then there were strong metal arms underneath his own, pulling him away from the man he might have been about to kill. His struggles were completely ineffectual, and he panicked, but then he was placed gently down on his feet a few metres away. He swayed, struggling to stay upright. Then Iron Man was there, who fired some kind of pulse at Scorpion, and the villain fell completely limp.

The pain immediately dimmed as relief swept over Peter. Tony Stark was here now. That meant everything would be okay.

The mask on Tony's suit disappeared to reveal his concern ridden face. He turned towards Peter, eyes surveying his injuries.

"You alright, kid? Still alive?"

Peter followed Tony's gaze down to his side, and saw the large burn where Scorpion's weapon had made contact for the second time. Thankfully his torso was still mostly in tact, having taken less damage than he'd first thought. The pain was even lesser too. He felt slightly numb.

"I'm fine, Mr Stark. Still alive." He said, probably far too chipper for the state he was actually in. He had a sudden urge to pull of his mask, to breath real air, but knew he couldn't.

"You sure?" Pressed Tony, expression unchanging. "You look like you've been dragged to hell and back."

"Yeah." said Peter. "I've got the suit to protect me, haven't I? Who is this guy?"

He gestured towards the unmoving creature on the ground. Peter was in somewhat of a daze now. He found it hard to comprehend what had happened; what was still happening.

"I was hoping you could tell me." said Tony. "This little commotion's had half of Queens backed up with traffic. I've had four essential personnel call in late this morning. Naturally, I had FRIDAY check it out and she tells me a whole hundred square feet of the city's off-line."

Peter swayed again. Then suddenly the edges of his vision started to darken. Pins and needles shot up his legs. Breathing became too hard.

"So I try you; you don't answer. I've got no reads on your suit and I think maybe you had your little friend tamper with it again."

Peter wasn't listening. He could taste fresh blood in his mouth.

"I wasn't risking it though and thank God I didn't. You were about to kill this guy, kid. People'll stop seeing you as their friendly neighbourhood hero if you go around murdering every bad guy that comes along without a trial."

"Uh, Mr Stark. I don't feel so good."

Peter's legs gave out beneath him, and then the floor was rushing up to meet him.

"Kid? _Pete?!_ "

Peter never felt himself hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday would have probs told Tony that Peter wasn't okay. But I wrote the last bit first before I realised how badly I was gonna visibly hurt poor Peter. I'm very evil.  
> I'm better at writing action/whump than the comfort part, which is one of the reasons it takes me so long to write anything! But maybe in the future I'll get round to writing the rest of this story and exploring the villains and what not! Sorry if it takes 12 years. Love u all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't think of a way to end this chapter so it's been gathering dust for months. Posting it anyways cus someone might get something outta it. It's honestly just rambles I wrote on the train, but we love angst so yay

It wasn’t as if Tony hadn’t noticed Peter’s ripped suit and the way he slumped, or the broken quality of his voice. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed the destroyed vehicles and cracked concrete, evidence of something terrible having happened. In a bid at keeping his anxiety in check, he’d chosen to pretend the situation wasn’t as dire as it seemed; to give Peter the chance to explain it all away. But it was those words in particular: _Mr Stark, I don’t feel so good_ , that made the tension that had been building in his chest all morning turn into tangible solid rock. Tony immediately forgot whatever he was talking about, as well as the costumed man passed out on the floor behind him. His concentration moved solely to Peter.

Peter’s hand moved to his side. The eyes on his suit narrowed. He swayed and stumbled backwards.

“Kid? _Pete?!”_

Tony sprinted forward, barely managing to stop Peter from crashing to the ground and hurting himself further. Peter’s body was completely lax. Tony lowered him onto the floor as gently as he could manage.

Up close, Tony could see the true damage that had been inflicted. His stomach twisted. Parts of Peter’s torso were burned and blackened. The Stark suit had given way to reveal ruined flesh underneath.

Tony had known that the events of this morning were way more than just a signal cut and a traffic jam. Since he’d dawned the Iron Man suit things like this were never _just_ anything. Finding Peter’s suit offline and his phone unresponsive amongst it all had bloomed a strange kind of parental dread in Tony, one that every rational part of him tried and failed to quiet. He’d never expected that dread to be justified though. Not like this.

“Friday…”

He wasn’t sure what he was asking his A.I. to do.

“Peter Parker has sustained multiple intrusions, sir. He has internal bleeding. Immediate medical attention is necessary if he is to survive.”

Tony’s mind went white. _To survive?_

“Well what are we waiting for?”

“My comms system is offline, sir. Just like everything else.”

The panic that rolled into Tony’s system was all-encompassing. He looked down at the small figure beneath him, a suited hand glancing over Peter’s chest, seeking to help but terrified to touch. He had an urge to take off Peter’s mask, as if once he looked upon the teenager’s face he would somehow wake up.

“Friday, you gotta give me something here. There’s no way in hell or Earth I’m letting this kid die. No way…”

“Usually I would advice against moving someone in Peter’s condition, sir.” Said Friday. “But I believe there are no other viable options. Hallwood Hospital is five blocks away.”

_They’ll remove his suit. They’ll take off his mask._

Tony knew how desperately Peter wanted, _needed_ his identity hidden. He respected that choice too. He respected Peter. No hospitals then.

“Friday, will I make it back to the compound with him in time?”

“It’s hard to say, sir.”

“So I will. Good.”

Tony made to slip his hands under Peter, ready to lift him up.

“Be careful.” Said Friday. “Peter has three fractured ribs on his left side. Try to move him as little as possible. And make sure to support his head. I’m getting reads of significant bruising around his neck.”

Tony hesitated. _Bruising around his neck? Peter had been choked?_ He glanced back at the Scorpion shaped creature on the floor a few metres away, a surge of fury coursing through him.

He could take bullet wounds, broken bones. Things like that were a methodical means to an end, or fallout from the kinds of fights people like them had every week. But choking? Choking was something else. It was intentioned. It wasn’t just to kill, but to hurt. He was shocked at his own rage by the thought of someone doing that to Peter. He had a sudden urge to end the man who had. But he had no time. He had to get Peter to the compound and fast. Plus they’d need the man for questioning, for at the minute Tony knew nothing about why or how this had happened. His blast would keep the man under long enough for Tony to escape the dead zone and have him detained. In the meantime, he just had to pray that Peter’s attacker was on his own and would remain unmoved by the time the authorities reached him.

Tony slipped his arms under Peter and lifted him, jostling him more than he would’ve liked. It was difficult to keep the boy’s head supported, and he winded up with it rested not so stably against his armoured shoulder. It was unsettling how utterly limp Peter remained. Though perhaps his unconsciousness was a mercy considering the extent of his injuries.

“Alright, kid. Here we go. Don’t die on me.”

_Please don’t die on me._

And with that he took off.

 

* * *

 

 

“I wanna know who this guy is. I wanna know who he works for. If he has family. I wanna know how many pancakes he has for breakfast, okay? Just find out who he is.”

“We’ve got very little to go off, sir.”

“We have the images the kid’s suit picked up, don’t we? He was wearing Chitauri tech. The only person we know who ever sold Chitauri tech was Toomes. I need a list of every transaction that man ever made. I want it yesterday, understand?”

“How do we plan to acquire that, sir?”

“How the hell do I know?! Talk to the guy. Maybe 9 months on nutraloaf and prison grits loosened his tongue. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Peter woke up very slowly at first, with a body that felt immovable, an awful taste in his mouth and a tongue that felt like sandpaper. He wasn’t totally aware he was awake until someone started speaking to him. It was a woman’s voice, asking him questions, coaxing him back to reality and away from the hazy nothingness that had filled his head up to now. And then suddenly Peter had two terrifying realisations. He didn’t know where he was. And more pressingly, he wasn’t wearing his mask.

Peter jolted upright, eyes wide open, hands flying to his face to confirm his fear, only to find his right hand fixed into some kind of elaborate, high-tech splint. Then his panic was joined by the agony that bloomed across his torso with the movement. He cried out, then started coughing, triggered by the dryness of his throat.

“Hey, hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re okay.” Came the voice of the young nurse who was tending to him. She placed a gentle hand upon his back. “It’s best if you lay back down.”

The nurse’s soft-spoken words did nothing to make him feel better. He couldn’t remember how he’d got here. And she could see his face. She knew who he was. As far as he knew, the whole world did. This was terrible.

The nurse pressed a finger to her ear and proceeded to speak, but not to Peter.

“Please alert Mr Stark that Spider-Man is awake.”

Mr Stark? He was at the Avengers’ facility? How did he get here? Why was Tony Stark involved? Why was he unmasked?

“I’m unsure, sir. He must’ve burned through the anaesthetic.” Added the nurse into her comm.

Everything that had happened started to come back to Peter in the wrong order: a jumbled spool of movie reel. He remembered getting the living hell kicked out of him, that was for sure. He remembered the school bus and Ned, his lack of powers. He remembered being on the verge of killing a man.

When that last memory emerged, Peter suddenly had the urge to throw up.  He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He tried to remember if he’d finished the job, but his memory darkened after the point Scorpion’s blaster hit him for the second time, the effects of which he could feel all too well now. He remembered the anger. He remembered the desperation. But it ended there. So why did it feel like he’d killed someone?

“Peter, I really advise you lay down.”

But Peter was panicking, his brain frantically trying to put pieces together amongst too much blank space.

“Hey, kid. You’re gonna hurt yourself. Calm down.”

It was Tony Stark’s voice now. The man was on the other side of him, replacing the nurse’s hand on his back, having arrived less than a minute after she had signalled him.

“Maybe we’d all benefit from doing what the nice lady, wait, what’s your name again?”

“Emma.”

“By doing what Emma tells us.”

Tony Stark had an odd way of showing concern, but there was something off in his voice that told Peter this was it. He stilled and looked up at his mentor, fear on his face.

“Mr Stark,” He croaked, slightly slurred. “Did I kill that guy?”

“What?” Responded Tony, a little perplexed at the question. “You don’t remember? Nurse, is his head okay?”

“A concussion, sir.”

“Mr Stark.”

“He really needs to lay down.” The nurse added. “The surgery…”

“No, kid. You didn’t kill anyone.” Said Tony. “Your trusty pal Iron Man came to save the day as usual. No one died.”

Though Tony Stark’s words were comforting, the man’s demeanour was transparent with stress, or was it fear? Still, Peter visibly relaxed. The panic resolved slightly, giving way to the pain in his chest, shoulder, side, everything.

“Thank God.” Said Peter. Though it didn’t make it okay. He was about to kill that man. He _would_ have if Mr Stark had let him.

“Hey. Now that’s cleared up, it’d make Emma, and me for that matter, feel a whole lot better if you lay down.”

Peter finally did as he was told, laying back against the cot with a grimace. It was only then that he registered his lack of shirt and the gauze and bandages that were wrapped around his shoulder and torso. Tony picked up a glass of water that had been left on the table beside him and dangled it in front of Peter.

“Here, drink.”

Peter reached out to take it; the movement alone sending obvious discomfort across his face. He felt awful. When he sipped the water, it hurt to swallow. The nurse frowned.

“Are you hurting, Peter?” she said.

Peter just nodded.

Now it was Tony’s turn to frown.

“Is he not supposed to be?”

“My apologies.” She said. “It’s hard to know how much pain relief should be supplied. I’ve already upped him from the regular dosage more than I would’ve liked.”

“Kid’s an avenger. He’s not regular.”

_An avenger?_

“Don’t get ideas.” Said Tony, noticing Peter’s visible reaction to what he’d said. Although whilst normally Peter would have rejoiced at being labelled an Avenger by Tony Stark himself, that was far from the case now. The woman next to him was pandering over a machine to which he was hooked. He didn’t recognise her, and _she could see his face._

“Mr Stark, my mask.” He said.

“What?” Tony responded. “Oh, not to worry.” He waved his hand in feigned nonchalance. “Anything seen or heard in this room stays strictly in this room. And we only hire tested and trusted personnel. Like Emma here. You’re identities safe.”

_You didn’t even know her name._

Peter kept the words in his head, choosing to trust rather than doubt. It didn’t make him feel any less horrid though. And then his stomach dropped through the floor.

“Where’s my aunt and Ned?” he said, remembering the very reason he had to keep his identity a secret in the first place. “He threatened them. He knows who I am.”

“We know, kid. They’re-“

“Let me through! So help me God I’ll break this damn door down.”

Peter recognised the voice immediately. The door swung open and in came May, looking utterly furious. One glance at Peter and the anger melted away like it had never been there at all. She hurried forward, forcing Tony aside so she could get to him. She fell down into a seat that was pulled up against the bed. Someone in the doorway muttered a flustered apology to Tony.

“Out.” Was all Tony responded with, to which the man obeyed.

“Pete? You’re okay. You’re okay. Oh thank God you’re okay.” Uttered May. Her hand shot to Peter’s face, cupping it gently.

Peter relished in the immediate relief of knowing his Aunt hadn’t been targeted, but felt sick at the fact she was seeing him like this. He was straight up overwhelmed; dazed from the drugs coursing through his system; still overcome with an unrelenting fear. What had happened was fuzzy in his head, but at the same time it felt like it had taken place mere minutes ago. Whilst his spider-sense was quiet, his nerves and muscles were still in fight-or-flight mode. But at least May was here. At least May was alive.

“Is Ned with you?”

He felt like the words came out too slowly.

 “What?” said May, taken aback by the question. “Yes, they brought us in together.”

_They were both alive._

“But this is about you, Peter.” May continued frantically. “They told me you were in surgery for 8 hours. I saw… This can’t happen, Peter. I can’t do this. Please, just tell me you’re okay.”

 “I’m okay, Aunt May.”

He hardly believed himself. May shook her head obviously feeling the same. Her eyes were full of something akin to pain. Moisture brewed there as she surveyed him and moved her hand down to his own uninjured one, the one that still held the glass of water.

“Oh Pete. Your face. Your hand. What have they done to you?”

 _His face?_ Scorpion must’ve really done a number on him. For there to still be bruises over eight hours later…

“It’s not that bad, May. I promise.”

His voice cracked, but May wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was looking at Tony Stark, having adorned the furious expression she first entered the room with.

“You said you would keep him safe.” She said harshly. “You call this _safe?_ He’s in a hospital bed, Stark. He could have been _killed_. You didn’t even tell me. I had to wait until I saw that man, that _monster_ hurting him on the news. I thought… Oh Pete, I didn’t even know if you were alive.”

Guilt tore through Peter. He couldn’t imagine what May had gone through, watching him get beaten to a pulp through a TV screen, wondering whether it was time to start planning another funeral.

“May, I swear I’m okay.”

“No, Pete. You’re not.” She said resolutely. “You’re a child. _My_ child. You’re the most brilliant child I ever knew. But that doesn’t make this, or you, or anything okay.”

She turned to Tony again.

“Tell me you at least caught these guys. Tell me Peter’s safe now.”

Tony cleared his throat, and Peter already knew that it wasn’t going to be the response May, or he wanted to hear.

“He’s safe as long as he’s here. You all are.”

“As long as he’s here? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not gonna like it, but I’m gonna have to ask you to stay calm. We’re doing all we can.”

“Just spit it out.” The words were more afraid than angry. “Please.” She added in a softer tone.

Tony breathed in, looking a little pained.

 “Our transport ship was ambushed on the way to our containment facilities.” He said. “The attacker, Peter’s attacker, escaped several hours ago.”

Peter’s chest tightened with dread. He held his breath. He expected May to scream, to immediately flip out, but instead her hand tightened around his and she gave a soft, uncertain, terrified “Oh.”

“I’ve got the best people on this. _I’m_ on this.” Said Tony. “No one’s resting until every person involved in this is down and out.”

“What do we do?” said May, her eyes flittering from Peter’s face to his broken hand to her own arms as if she didn’t know where to look. “Where do we go?”

 “You sit tight.” Said Tony. “Hey, he’s practically my kid too. He’s safe with me.”

May let out a sudden spiteful laugh.

“Your _kid?”_ She spat. It was as if something in the room switched, like the air dissipated. “Your _kid?”_ she said again. And then she was standing, pointing a condemning finger at Tony Stark.

“There’s certain things you do and don’t do when you have a kid, Stark. I know because I raised one for the last 9 years.”

Peter had never heard this tone of voice before on May. It frightened him. But as the pain dimmed with whatever the nurse was giving him, the scene before him was also beginning to seem like part of a strange feverish dream.

“You don’t put your _kid_ in harm’s way. You don’t give your kid the means to be a super hero at fifteen as if it’s not gonna get them killed. You don’t take your kid to _Germany_ to fight war criminals three times their age. This is your fault, Stark. _You_ dragged him into this world. _You_ put a target on his back. He’s not your kid. He’s your vanity project. He’s expendable to you. You don’t know anything about kids. Only how to endanger other people’s.”

“May…”

“What, Peter.” said May, her tone still harsh and frantic, her eyes still on Tony. But Peter didn’t say anything more. And neither did Tony. The man looked shell-shocked, mouth half open and eyes glassy. Trust May Parker of all people to leave the one and only Tony Stark speechless.

Peter wanted to protest. This wasn’t Tony Stark’s fault. This had always been his choice. He chose to fight. He always would, regardless of Tony’s influence. There were consequences when he didn’t, the kind he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

Peter _wanted_ to protest, but as the morphine took effect his thoughts grew hazy and slow. A blanket of warmth settled upon him, undeniably good, and the anxiety seeped away to uncover very real exhaustion.

“Aunt May…” he said again, a mumble this time, not sure what he was asking for.

May turned to him and as she did Peter’s now too heavy head lolled to the side, eyelids drooping. May’s face immediately softened. She fell back down into her seat and quickly took the glass that was slipping from his hand.

“Oh sweetie, it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna fix this. You’re gonna be okay.”

It was crazy how fast May was able to unconsciously switch from scared and raging, to a mother desperate to comfort her child.

“I upped his morphine dosage significantly. He shouldn’t be in pain anymore.”

The nurse’s voice would have cut the tension in the room like a knife if Peter could still feel it. He looked at May and felt his mind drifting away.

“My…choice…” he mumbled, only remnants of coherent thought breaking through.

“Honey, what?”

“My choice.” He said. “Uncle…Ben…”

_Was my fault._

Sober Peter would have never spoken those two words in front of May in such a situation. Sober Peter would have also reacted differently to May breaking into tears seconds after he did, or reacted at all. He would have even noticed the unmistakable expression of guilt seeping onto Tony Stark’s face. It was just a dream now though, and soon he was well and truly asleep.

* * *

 

 

After Peter fell asleep, Tony felt a desperate urge to leave the room, which he quickly succumbed to.

“Uh, nurse, Emma, make sure he gets better fast okay. I’m gonna... take care of some business.”

The first thing he did was find the nearest desk and press his hands against it, trying desperately to gather his thoughts.

Vanity project? _Vanity project?_

Was that true? Was Peter’s aunt right? Tony tried to recall why he’d ever wrapped the kid up in his world in the first place. At the time he’d needed muscle. He’d needed someone with the desire to help. Someone to balance the odds in a terrible situation. At the time there was nothing more to it.

Like hell there was nothing more to it. Tony couldn’t convince himself that it had ever been that simple.

He’d done research on the kid before they’d met. Of course he had. He’d known Peter was still in high school. He’d known he was a child genius. He’d known that both his parents were dead and that less than three months prior to their meeting, his uncle and guardian had been shot and killed. Tony’s research into Peter’s life had revealed to him a childhood not so different from his own, one riddled with both extreme loss and extreme promise.

So he’d seen himself in the kid. So what. It wasn’t as if he’d walked into that apartment, eagerly looking to paint Peter in his own image. God no. He wanted Peter to be better. _Do_ better.

But did that make this whole thing a selfish endeavour? He’d thrown away a path of heroism and righteousness the second he’d started using his wits to make and sell weapons. Was he leading this kid to an early death in some twisted attempt at self-redemption?

No. Any input he’d had in Peter’s life was to protect him. At least he hoped that was the case. Peter was already a super-hero, before Tony; before the Avengers. He was always going to be one. Peter had been blessed, or cursed, with whatever abilities he had, and he was going to use them no matter what. A fancy suit had nothing to do with it. Tony was there to protect Peter along the journey he’d chosen for himself; that was it.

But it was hearing his broken voice. _I don’t feel so good._ It was seeing him waver, then drop to the floor like a dead weight. It was carrying his lifeless body for what felt like hours, terror swelling with every passing moment; every moment closer to the boy’s death. It was Pepper in his earpiece when his comms came back online, asking what had happened. It was his reply cut short when Friday informed him that Peter’s heart had stopped. It was later, watching the events he’d missed play out through the first-person recordings on Peter’s suit. He could practically feel each blow, grimacing as the camera lense fell flat against the concrete for far too long. He felt nothing short of ill when he watched Peter’s shaking hand pick up a huge shard of glass and shove it into his own leg. This was what Peter had been seeing. Lord knows what he’d been feeling. And then it was seeing it again, small glimpses of shaky phone footage on the news. Spider-Man , who looked so small, hit, kicked, _mocked,_ imagining the child inside the suit that _he’d_ made, all the while waiting to hear if he’d ever wake up.

It made him regret ever stepping foot in that apartment. It made him regret ever laying eyes on the kid; building that stupid suit and this even stupider attachment. _Looking out for the little guy,_ that’s what he’d said. That was Peter’s reason to fight. It was about protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. But who was going to protect Peter: a child who hadn’t even owned a flat or been to work or _lived?_ It was supposed to be Tony. But he couldn’t. He _didn’t._ And now Peter was lucky to even be alive.

“Sir, we have something.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
